


Of All Things Below the Breach

by bullpavus (talksmaths)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Heavy Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Regret, leonard cohen sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talksmaths/pseuds/bullpavus
Summary: With all the chaos around him, Cullen can no longer ignore the source of noise inside him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarajevo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarajevo/gifts).



Cullen descends to the lower corridors of the Skyhold castle from his study. It was later than he had realized and the castle was empty, aside from the scattered guard. He walked through Josephine’s study and toward the war table when he saw Dorian. 

With his shoulder to the wall, the moonlight illuminates his face, emphasizing his cheekbones and filling the depths of his eyes.

“You’re sure up late tonight, Commander.”

Cullen approaches Dorian, and Dorian pitches his weight forward. He stands tall and close to Cullen. When Cullen opens his mouth but finds nothing to say, Dorian smirks.

“It is dark, Commander, but your face is not hidden beneath the darkness,” Dorian says softly. “There is nothing you can hide from the stars and me.”

Cullen takes a breath before giving a low reply:

“I know that.”

Dorian smirks again and steps closer to Cullen, backing him into the opposite wall, near the fallen brick.

“What brings you back to see me, Commander?”

Dorian’s eyes drop from Cullen’s eyes to his lips, and finally settling on his throat. Cullen can feel his face grow hot and he swallows. Dorian gives a low laugh. A chill creeps up Cullen’s back--from the disintegrated wall, surely.

“You must have a busy day tomorrow, Commander,” Dorian whispers, lips pressed to Cullen’s neck, kissing softly. “Yet here you are.”

Dorian steals a bite and Cullen inhales sharply. Dorian grins against his skin and places a hand on Cullen’s hip.

“I am always glad to see you,” Dorian says. “You always get things in me stirring.”

Dorian squeezes Cullen’s hip before reaching under his shirt and tracing his hip bone lightly with his fingertips. His mouth moves from pressing kisses to sucking and biting, making Cullen even more breathless and even more flushed.

“You are so strong in your armor in front of everyone, but here, for me?”

Dorian pulls back and looks Cullen in the eyes. With one hand firmly on Cullen’s hip, his other examines the marks on Cullen’s neck. Cullen can already feel how much the skin will ache under a bruise.

“Under cover of darkness, you are far more pliant.”

Cullen can’t stop himself from breathing hard.

“You are stoic, but beneath, there is softness,” Dorian continues. He moves his hand higher up Cullen’s torso, fingers trailing gently. “There is muscle, but there is also flesh, just asking to be kissed and bitten and sucked.”

The final syllable hangs heavy and pressing in Cullen’s ears. Dorian quickly and harshly drags his hand down Cullen’s waist, scratching his stomach. Cullen hisses, not so much from pain but surprise. His mouth is dry and useless at getting out the hundred things he wants to say.

“I want to see all of you,” Dorian breathes into Cullen’s ear. “I want to feel your hands on my wrists. I want to taste your sweat between my lips. I want to--”

Dorian is silenced by Cullen’s aggressive kiss. Cullen grabs Dorian’s head and pulls him close, kissing him desperately, and,  _ fuck _ , he’s been wanting this. Dorian’s lips are not as soft as he had imagined and he can feel scruff against his own chin, but the rawness does not detract from the perfection of the moment. Cullen digs his nails into Dorian’s scalp and Dorian’s hands settle on his waist, his chest, his back, desperate for the warmth of his skin. Dorian runs his tongue against Cullen’s lower lip, and when Cullen opens his mouth, he can’t suppress the whine that slips out. He can feel Dorian smile against his mouth and Dorian’s nails on his back and Cullen can’t feel his own hands at all. He can only feel the points where Dorian is touching him. It’s all that grounds him.

Dorian pulls away, leaving both of them vying for air. He presses his forehead against Cullen’s.

“Come with me,” Dorian breathes.

Cullen worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Dorian pulls his lip out with his thumb and leans in to kiss him again, but Cullen stops him. He shakes his head, pulling Dorian’s arm out from under his shirt.

Dorian stands tall, looking down at Cullen. “You always do this,” Dorian says softly. His voice had lost its hard, authoritative edge.

“I know,” Cullen says again, uselessly.

“What is stopping you?” Dorian asks. His eyes are dark still but now much more pleading, looking for the answer Cullen is hiding.

Cullen’s head is so full of thoughts that circle quick and raucous through his head, and they all make it hard to breathe. His face grows redder for a darker reason.

Cullen wordlessly shakes his head. He can’t get his tongue to move or words to squeeze out through his tight throat.

Dorian gives a small, disappointed sigh before leaving Cullen in the corridor. Once the door to Josephine’s study has shut, his eyes focus on the brick wall in front of him. He can only make out the details the moon draws out.

Cullen rolls his shoulders back and can feel the scratches on his back burning. His face feels fit to melt off. Shame and embarrassment crowd his head, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He feels the ghostly imprints of Dorian’s body on his and they accentuate with every heartbeat, and every racing thought couples them:

_ This is wrong. This is bad. But why? I shouldn’t be doing this, not with him. I know it’s wrong, but-- _

There was always something that kept him from fully realizing the answer. The more he thought about it, the more he felt his body and mind would cave in around him.

_ I know it’s not right. But why do I fucking need it? _

Cullen’s breath was heavy and deafening in his own ears, and he knew he had to get out of there. He half-believed he could outrun his thoughts.

Inside Josephine’s study in the lowest drawer of her desk was a bottle of--well, he didn’t know, but it was Orlesian, and it was fucking strong. She’d been raving about it and wanting it for weeks, and when it finally arrived, she decided on saving it for a special occasion.

Cullen worked off the cork. He could always buy her another.

  
  
  
  
  


“Oh, fucking Maker.”

Cullen looked up at Dorian, trying to make his eyes steady on his face, but he couldn’t.

Dorian helped him off his knees and to his feet, leading him inside his quarters.

“My life doesn’t revolve around you, you know,” Dorian said, trying to lean Cullen against a wall for support.

_ I know, but mine does.  _ “Jus wanted to see my fav’it mage.”

“Odd words from a Templar.”

Cullen manages to stand upright for a few moments before his knees buckle. Dorian huffs before helping him onto his bed.

“What are you doing here, Cullen?”

Cullen’s head is spinning still, but alcohol has pushed most of his deep-rooted thoughts about Dorian aside. It’s not any less nauseating, but he takes solace in its ephemeral nature.

“Bored.”

_ I couldn’t possibly stay away. _

Dorian sighs, less out of anger and more from pity. Cullen doesn’t care so long as he gets Dorian’s attention.

“If you leave, I fear you’ll fall down the stairs and kill yourself, and that will not look good for the Inquisition.”

Cullen says nothing. He’s too focused on the muscles in Dorian’s arms and all of him that isn’t hidden beneath armor and formal attire.

“Don’t break anything,” Dorian says, gathering some clothes. “I’ll be in my study.”

Irrational panic washes over Cullen.  _ The whole point of me coming here was-- _

“No,” Cullen says. “Stay. Please.”

Dorian considers this for a moment, looking over Cullen. Cullen feels ashamed for how he must look--the disheveled, plastered commander, barely able to sit up on Dorian’s bed. It might be mostly pity that keeps Dorian from leaving, but Cullen will take it. He doesn’t care what Dorian must think of him.

Dorian shoves Cullen over so he only takes up one half of the bed. He climbs in and beneath the blankets and faces away from Cullen, but Cullen doesn’t care. He just wants to be with Dorian.

He wants to reach out and pull Dorian close to him and he does it without entirely realizing it until he can feel Dorian’s body pressed against his own. Cullen wraps his arm around Dorian’s chest, fingernails trailing haphazardly along his ribs and stomach. Dorian does not try to move away, and Cullen will take it. He buries his nose into Dorian’s neck and breathes him in: warm, sharp, elusive. All he can think about is warmth before he loses consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Bright, midday light awakens Cullen and makes his headache pulse even harder. He blinks hard, trying to subdue the pain. Dorian’s head is on his chest and Cullen has his hand in Dorian’s hair. Cullen has to extricate himself from Dorian’s arm around his waist and back, and it hurts. He wants to stay in bed all day with Dorian, be warm and adored. But he can’t. He takes one last look at Dorian’s sleeping face before straightening his clothes. As he leaves to retreat to his study and look for something to ameliorate his headache, he finds Josephine has already beat him to it.

“Ah, there you are,” she quips. “I’ve been looking for you. The Inquisitor would like to call together the War Council.” Her eyes momentarily drop down to his neck before back up to his eyes. “I was wondering why I couldn’t find you in your study or quarters, but I see now you must have had a busy night.”

Cullen blushes and rubs his neck as if it were sore, covering the hickey with his hand. Josephine laughs, not unkindly. “We’ll see you soon, Commander?”

_ Commander _ . Maker, how he loved the way Dorian said it.

“Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. Josephine turns to leave, but not before turning around one last time.

“You and your mystery lover,” she coos. “You just might be the hottest gossip of Skyhold, Commander. Why such a secret?”

Cullen continues rubbing his neck, though less vigorously. “I’d almost think you were the spymaster, Josie.”

She smiles proudly at him before leaving. Cullen drops his hand from his neck and considers how he’s going to hide this adolescent bruise. Josie had talked about him being the subject of gossip, and it made his blood run cold. The last thing he wanted was prying eyes into his--well, whatever he and Dorian were doing. It was meant to be a secret. For weeks before this, no one had noticed.

_ Or maybe they had just never said anything about it. _

Anxiety begins to creep up Cullen’s back, but he pushes it away. Dorian was not his focus, not now. He had a meeting to attend.


	3. Chapter 3

After Josephine’s comment, Cullen is glad not to be the center of attention.

“We need to explore the Emprise,” the Inquisitor said. “We need troops to take care of the Venatori and their control of the mines. As for the refugees and enslaved, we can take care of that. I’ll recruit Sera, Bull, and Dorian.”

“You do not need to solve every problem immediately,” Leliana says. “You can’t. Just focus on eliminating the main problem: the Venatori.”

The Inquisitor nods, looking to the table before looking to Cullen. “If your troops can manage to get a camp set up, we can work with that.”

Cullen nods, and he hears nothing else. As the Inquisitor, Leliana, and Josephine talk about other plans and missions, Cullen is thinking about how Dorian will be away from Skyhold for at least a few weeks.

  
  
  
  
  


Cullen descends the stairs from the Skyhold castle and finds Cassandra in the far corner of the field, away from most of the other refugees. There she’s training new recruits; he can tell from their wide eyes and nervous stance. 

“You cannot hide behind your shields,” Cassandra yells, voice strong and clear. “Use it as offensively as your sword.”

The recruits had paired off, practicing defenses and attacks. Cassandra acknowledges Cullen’s presence wordlessly. He approaches a soldier with his back to Cullen. The soldier had dropped his shield and fended off a fellow recruit effortlessly. Cullen grabs his free arm and wrenches it behind him, and the recruit falls to his knees.

“Do not let pride get the best of you.” Cullen holds his arm for a moment before releasing him, once his peers had seen him. “You must always anticipate an attack from where you are not looking.”

The recruit gave Cullen a dirty look before leaving.

“You do not need to humiliate them,” Cassandra says. “That is what I am here for.”

Cullen smiles inwardly. “Never a poor time to interject with more.”

Cassandra sheathes her sword and looks over the recruits, turning ever so slightly toward Cullen. “I know you are having a hard time. A lot is weighing on you. You are not good at hiding it.”

Cullen looks at Cassandra. The blood in his face drains.  _ How the fuck did she--? _

“The Inquisitor told me about your lyrium withdrawal,” Cassandra explains. “I do not know if it is brave or stupid. Regardless, you are strong. I cannot imagine resisting an addiction.”

Cullen meets her eyes. He wonders if she knows just how true her statement is--and in how many ways.

“I don’t want to lose control of myself,” Cullen says. “It’s not good for the Inquisition if their Commander is distracted by an addiction. My focus is on the future.”

“Do not lose sight of yourself, Commander.” Cassandra looks back out to the recruits. “You are strong, but you are not invincible.”

“Thank you for the reminder.”

Cassandra offers a small half-smile. “I will continue humiliating the recruits. You go enjoy time with the Inquisitor off your back.”

Cullen returns the smile without even thinking about it. Cassandra leaves to yell at a recruit who managed to get cornered by three others. Cullen leaves to retreat to his study and desperate to think of anything beside the addiction trying to pull his attention.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s been several weeks, and the party has returned from the Emprise du Lion.

“Am I not allowed an hour alone upon my return?”

Cullen shut the door behind him.

“Apparently not.”

Dorian set down his tome on a table beside him and slowly, languidly made his way to Cullen.

“I missed you,” Cullen says softly.

Dorian’s focus drifts down to Cullen’s mouth, and Cullen clears his throat. Dorian smirks, eyes meeting Cullen’s again.

“I missed having a warm bed.” Dorian rests his hand on the back of Cullen’s neck, gently rubbing his thumb on Cullen’s throat. “I missed you keeping me warm.”

Dorian presses a kiss to Cullen’s forehead. Without letting hesitation enter his thoughts, he catches Dorian’s lips and kisses him. He knew he’d been dying to kiss Dorian again, but,  _Maker,_ he forgot just how inviting Dorian’s kisses are, how alluring and begging to be touched his skin is, the perfect exquisiteness of his being.

After the full eternal moment of their kiss, Dorian pulls away and looks into Cullen’s eyes, drawing his thumb down the scar that ran through Cullen’s lips.

“I’ve had many opportunities to explore you, Commander,” Dorian breathes. “Won’t you let me inside some time?”

Cullen’s face burns and Dorian can’t suppress a small, proud smirk.

_Did he really mean that? Fuck, did he really--_

Cullen stops his thoughts from overwhelming him and fucking up the only good thing in his life with a hard, deep kiss. Dorian pulls Cullen closer to him and pressing their bodies together, fingers tight on his the back of his neck. Cullen places his hand on the small of Dorian’s back and awkwardly but firmly pushes his hips into Dorian’s, earning a small moan against his lips. Cullen blushes harder, and when Dorian steals a bite to Cullen’s lower lip, he moans. Cullen feels another rush of blood to his face and something that almost feels like regret, but he likes the feeling--he likes being caught off guard to be directly faced with that which makes him feel most shame, and yet--

“ _Dorian_ ,” Cullen gasps as Dorian pinches the inside of his thigh, and Dorian steals his breath by pressing his tongue into Cullen’s mouth.

Maybe it was shameful, but it was true and addicting and so fucking _good_.

Dorian kissed further into Cullen’s mouth, pulling his head down with both his hands on Cullen’s face. He rolls his hips into Cullen’s and Cullen feels like he’s melting into the door. Cullen realizes his dizziness is also from a lack of air and he pulls away from Dorian, letting his eyes flutter open. He presses his forehead to Dorian’s and takes in the flush beneath his tanned skin, how his delicious mouth was slightly parted to suck in deep breaths, how his eyes were dark and electric and searching so far into Cullen’s he felt naked. Cullen leaves his arm around Dorian’s back and places his other hand on his chest.

“When I was a teenager, there was this other conscript,” Cullen breathes. “He had dark hair and a strong body and I could never hear what he was saying because I just kept thinking about tasting him.”

Dorian gave a small smirk as encouragement for him to keep talking. He began pressing small kisses against Cullen’s cheek.

“I made up any excuse to be with him, to watch him, to dream of being close to him. I--”

Dorian dragged his teeth down Cullen’s chin toward his neck and began kissing and biting, hard and messy. Cullen’s breath catches in his throat when Dorian tangles his fingers in Cullen’s hair and pulls his head back to expose more soft, sensitive flesh.

“I--I wanted him to know how I felt, but had no idea how. And he never knew about it.”

Dorian moans into Cullen’s neck. Cullen’s toes curl until his feet ache.

“I almost feel jealous, Commander.”

Cullen slides his hand down Cullen’s chest and under his shirt.

“He has nothing on you,” Cullen says softly.

Dorian pulls Cullen’s hand away so he can put his own hands beneath Cullen’s shirt and pulls it over his head, dropping it to the ground. Cullen had never been insecure of his body, but at watching Dorian’s eyes study him, he feels a shame-tinged kind of secret pleasure.

“Your skin is so divine,” Dorian says. “I can’t wait to ruin it.”

Cullen begins an attack-like kiss as Dorian runs his nails down Cullen’s back, making him shiver. Dorian’s fingers press and squeeze and pinch and Cullen doesn’t know if he’s using magic or not, but it sure fucking feels like it. His fingers move downward from his sternum to his ribs and hipbones and--

Cullen wraps his hand around Dorian’s wrist and Dorian stops, looking up at Cullen for an answer. He can’t offer a good one.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen breathes. “I can’t.”

Dorian steps back. Cullen wants to pull him back in like their bodies are connected by a hundred thousand strings, but he can’t let him, he can’t, he _can’t._

“What is it? What is stopping you?”

Dorian’s eyes are inquisitive and searching, but not angry. A new, sharper breed of shame fills Cullen from the inside out.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, avoiding Dorian’s eyes.

“Is it me? Do you have a problem with--?”

“ _No_ ,” Cullen says forcefully. “It’s not you, it’s--”

“You’re lying,” Dorian says gravely.

“Dorian--”

“I like the idea of us as being a sexy secret, but Cullen, I know you’re ashamed of me.”

Cullen’s blood grows icy. “Dorian, I’m not ashamed of you.”

“Then you’re ashamed of _us_ ,” Dorian says, stepping back further. “Secrecy and shame are inextricably connected. You can’t treat me as a release respectfully.”

Cullen can’t move his mouth to make words. Dorian’s lingering taste and touches leave him feeling haunted.

Dorian sighs. “If I ever meant _anything_ to you, you need to be honest with me. Do I not deserve that?”

Cullen’s breath quickens and he can’t suck down enough air and he can’t separate his thoughts and he can’t hear anything over his thudding heartbeat in his ears and he can’t--

Dorian laughs cruelly, hanging his head for a moment.

“I-I have a lot on my mind, and I don’t know what to make of it all.”

Dorian steps close to Cullen, only to pick up his shirt and hand it back to him.

“I want to help you, Cullen,” Dorian explains. “But I’m not going to be your dirty little secret until you figure out your peace.”

Cullen dresses and backs out of Dorian’s study, feeling far more lost and lonely than he had before he entered.


	5. Chapter 5

The one thought Cullen allows himself to acknowledge is how his body is fucking aching for lyrium. The only good decision he’s made all night is heading to Herald’s Rest.

Even before he opens the door he’s greeted by the overwhelming din of drunken cheering. It is so nauseatingly obnoxious that for a moment Cullen wants to leave, but he knows he must face it. He’d take deafening shouts from someone else than losing himself in his own thoughts.

As Cullen kicks the door closed behind him, a stein hits the wall beside his head, cracked, but not broken. The thrower, Krem, looks wide-eyed and too drunk to sit on his stool—he promptly slides off when he tries to stand. Next to him, the Iron Bull gives a hearty, alcohol-rich laugh as he offers his hand to Krem. Bull motions for Cullen to join the two of them at the bar. As he takes an open stool, he can see the rest of the Chargers at a nearby table, where an annoyed barmaid is serving them drinks.

“I didn’t know you were permitted to leave the tower,” Bull jokes, sliding a stein toward Cullen. He downs it and stifles his choking, but not well enough: Bull notices and chuckles.

“Only in times of necessity,” Cullen coughs.

Cullen was absentmindedly watching Krem climb on top of the table, shouting a string of Tevene. Cullen only caught the few words Dorian had used with them, breathed into his ear or against his skin: _Fasta vass. Venhedis. Vishante kaffas._

Cullen pulls his eyes away from the scene and to the barmaid, sliding coins across the bar.

“What makes you deign to drink with us?” Bull says lightheartedly. “Do you—”

From behind Bull, Krem slips off the table, taking down another Charger with him. An elf among them (Cullen felt guilty he had yet to learn all of their names) erupted into laughter, throwing her head back. Cullen could almost feel the barmaid’s annoyance.

“Do you really just want to watch us make total asses of ourselves?” Bull asks.

Cullen watches Krem stretch and react to pain, only growing embarrassed when he met Cullen’s eyes and realized he had seen the whole thing. Cullen can’t stop a smile from forming and moves to cover it with another drink.

“They all think you’re too important to be seen doing things lightly. Like the Inquisitor,” Bull explains. “You’re still a bit of an idea to some of them, and not really a person.” He slaps his hand over Cullen’s shoulder and Cullen must brace himself against the bar. He hadn’t anticipated such a hard slap, nor realizing how quickly he had gotten very, very drunk.

“But I hear you’ve caught someone’s eye.”

Cullen rolls his eyes. “Josie _really_ should be the next spymaster.”

“It doesn’t take a spy, Commander,” Bull says. “You’re not very good at hiding things, inside or out.”

Cullen tries to make the hand flying to his neck seem natural, but it’s not successful. “Then I must not be good at hiding problems, either.”

Bull shakes his head, taking a drink. “Nope.”

The barmaid presses another stein against Cullen’s hand. When he tries to grab it, he nearly spills it, caught off-guard by his drunkenness. He begins to give her coin, but she shakes her head, pointing to Krem, who gave an awkward wave from fifteen feet away. He said something in mostly Tevene. Bull offered a translation, laughing: “He’s buying your forgiveness with a drink.”

Cullen raised his stein toward Krem and downed it, making Krem cheer.

“Love’s hard work,” Bull says, and Cullen chokes on his drink. Bull slaps his back, but it doesn’t alleviate his coughing fit. After several minutes of the entire bar watching Cullen choke on air, he regains composure and proper breathing.

“Commander, I’m not going to pry into details,” Bull says, looking into his stein, “but you could probably make your life easier if you just lightened up. The world nearly ended, but we’re back on top again.” Bull looks over at his Chargers, then hands the barmaid a small but weighty purse: paying for an apology.

“Look, I know you have a title and all that, but you’re still a person, Cullen,” Bull continues. His voice is almost nearing sober levels of evenness, which is just as mystifying to Cullen as magic, considering how much he had drunk. “Stop being all solemn and serious. Pretending you don’t have feelings doesn’t make them go away.”

“I never took you for the touchy-feely type,” Cullen says without even meaning to, the words flowing as he thought them.

Bull smirks at the regret plastered on Cullen’s face. “Go talk to Cole if you want crooning, but the simple truth is the value of strength comes from your own opinion of yourself, not just others’. Live by your own rules. I know you do, but that also sometimes means revising them.” Bull breathes, taking a moment. “Things work out in the end, even if someone has to fall out of the sky for it to happen. Plus, you can’t pull off brooding.”

Cullen smiles inwardly. “Thank you,” he says jokingly.

Cullen stands, leaving a hefty tip for the barmaid. He leaves, wondering how long he could keep himself upright. As he passed by the stain on the wall by the door, he touched it: sometimes letting things go was okay. Then he grimaced and wiped his hand on his robes, trying to get the stickiness off.

 

 

 

 

 

“For the love of the fucking _Maker_ , you’ve got to stop doing this.”

“I’m not,” Cullen says. “Not tonight. Come to my quarters. I wish to speak with you.”

Dorian’s eyes are searching and calculating, looking for purpose. He can’t think of anything witty to say, so he silently nods.

 

 

 

 

 

It had been several hours since Cullen had drunk. Sobriety had left him tired and groggy, but he was clear-headed. He was determined.

He motioned for Dorian to sit on his bed. Dorian took a few moments to look around before focusing back on Cullen, and it occurred to Cullen that Dorian had never been inside his quarters. In fact, besides the reconstruction crew, no one had. His quarters simply constituted as a bed on the loft directly above his study, but it was all he needed.

The gravity of the situation left Dorian silent. He was waiting for an explanation.

For a moment, Cullen almost wished he was inebriated so he could speak with ease, but he knew that he couldn’t do that to Dorian. Not anymore.

“You were right,” Cullen begins. “You deserve honesty. So I’ll give you the truth.”

Cullen sits on the end of the bed, across from Dorian. He pulls his knees up to his chest, curved slightly inward as if his stature would protect him from what he was about to do. Dorian watched him with wide, imploring eyes.

“You probably know that I have not taken lyrium since the move to Skyhold,” Cullen says. “I have felt weak every day since. I feel the absence of not being able to reach my full potential on my own anymore. I need something to aid me.”

Cullen takes a deep breath, avoiding Dorian’s eyes at all cost, looking into his hands at his feet instead. “I had wanted to join the Templars since I was a child. To me, they embodied honor, strength, courage, and selflessness. I knew I had to devote myself completely to them so I could let them mold me into what I wanted to become. And that left very little time for introspection. Between the demands and expectations made of me as I grew older, stigma was just as much a barrier into self-examination as limited time was. I felt like I was living to be a figure, an idea. I wasn’t a real person.”

Cullen braved a glance at Dorian. Dorian’s eyes were down at the bed, listening. Cullen took another deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I didn’t know truth until I met you.”

Slowly, Dorian raises his head, tilting it slightly as he listens.

“I didn’t know what, but I knew there was something in you that was also in me. The more I got to know you, the closer I felt to happiness and truth, and I realized it was something I could have for myself. I knew I could never let you go.”

Dorian blinks, looking away for a moment before returning his gaze to Cullen. He gets to his knees and leans forward, kissing Cullen’s cheek, whispering a _thank you_ against his skin. When he sits back on his heels, Cullen awkwardly but forcefully pulls Dorian in for a hug, holding him tight. Cullen presses a light kiss against Dorian’s lips.

“Maybe you’ll put Varric out of the writing business if you keep this up,” Dorian says. Cullen smiles, feeling relief and some semblance of peace wash over him.

“Thank you, Cullen,” he says more seriously. “I…it really means a lot for you to trust me.”

“And I do,” Cullen says. He takes Dorian’s face into his hands, examining him like it was the first time he’d ever gotten to really look at him. And in a way, it was.

Dorian placed his hand over one of Cullen’s, beaming and grinning. For a moment, everything was finally okay.

Until there was a knock on the door. Cullen froze, reflexing into shame and secrecy. He climbed down the ladder and answered the door.

“Hey, boss.”

Bull pressed a small purse into Cullen’s chest. Cullen could tell drunkenness was just beginning to slow Bull’s actions.

“Krem wanted to apologize for making a total ass of himself. Again.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, I don’t need payment.”

Bull laughed. “I said that. Won’t take no for an answer.”

Cullen could hear Dorian walking around upstairs, toward the ladder. Panic overtook his autonomy. “O-on second thought, I’ll take it. Give Krem my thanks, and—”

Bull’s focus lifted above and behind Cullen. He felt himself pale.

“If only Josie were here,” Bull said in a low voice.

Too afraid to turn around, Cullen forced himself to look at Bull. He flinched when Dorian placed his hand on Cullen’s lower back, leaning into him.

“I think she owes me a bottle of Antivan wine,” Dorian says, “once I told her I’ve figured out the identity of the Commander’s secret lover.”

Bull looked between the two of them and offered a hearty laugh. “I won’t keep you.”

With that, Cullen was left staring at the door. Dorian tried to pull him into a kiss, but Cullen barred his arm against Dorian’s chest. Suddenly Cullen felt more out of control and lost and off-balance than he ever had at Herald’s Rest.

“What—” Dorian began, but Cullen shook his head.

“I—I can’t—I—”

Cullen couldn’t breathe. And he definitely couldn’t look at Dorian anymore.

He took off—not through the door Bull had come through, but the other one. He ran away from the castle, feet eating the stone and then dirt beneath him. He hadn’t felt this amount of overwhelming, singular fear since the Inquisition began. He felt ill-equipped and cornered, like when he was a young Templar. He felt like his whole world might cave in on him.

The barn near the stables was empty. It was the middle of the night; the mounts merely stirred when he sprinted by them. Cullen pulled himself up the ladder, up to the loft, and leaned against one of the walls. He managed to take one deep breath before his knees buckled, and he hit the floor, hard. He was hiding in plain sight, from no one but himself.

He’d give anything for a fucking drink.


End file.
